


Stories for a Stranger

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, M/M, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: Fill for SherlockkinkmemePrompt #11, ACD, Holmes/Watson Cock RingsBy Iwantthatcoat“I write poems for a stranger who will be born in some distant country hundreds of years from now.” - Mary Oliver





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for Sherlockkinkmeme  
> Prompt #11, ACD, Holmes/Watson Cock Rings  
> By Iwantthatcoat  
>  
> 
> “I write poems for a stranger who will be born in some distant country hundreds of years from now.” - Mary Oliver

_"Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin despatch-box with my name, John H. Watson, M.D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It is crammed with papers, nearly all of which are records of cases to illustrate the curious problems which Mr Sherlock Holmes had at various times to examine. Some, and not the least interesting, were complete failures, and as such will hardly bear narrating, since no final explanation is forthcoming. A problem without a solution may interest the student, but can hardly fail to annoy the casual reader._

_Among these unfinished tales is that of Mr James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this world. No less remarkable is that of the cutter Alicia, which sailed one spring morning into a small patch of mist from which she never again emerged, nor was anything further ever heard of herself and her crew. A third case worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a matchbox in front of him which contained a remarkable worm, said to be unknown to science._

_Apart from these unfathomed cases, there are some which involve the secrets of private families to an extent which would mean consternation in many exalted quarters if it were thought possible that they might find their way into print."_

Such have I already stated, within my account of "The Problem of Thor Bridge".

What I have neglected to mention to the devoted readers of The Strand is that inside of this box is secreted still another container which holds my own personal papers which are of far too great a liability to keep in my home. As neither Holmes nor I have any other living relatives save Mycroft, who is entirely aware of our particular situation and might, in fact, lay claim to being the first of us all to be aware of it (ironically, Holmes was the last), I look forward to these papers being found posthumously. Should there be an afterlife, I would be much pleased to see the expression upon the faces of some of our friends at Scotland Yard, who I shall not name out of my own sense of propriety, who had assured us of the obvious nature of inverts everywhere. For that is what we are, Holmes and myself, though I know he would reject the term as unsuitable.

"Watson," he had once said, "you are certainly not 'turned upside down' on the matter of physical attraction. You find aspects of both male and female alluring...which seems to me to be an ideal perspective on the inherent beauty of humanity. Would that I could share that sense of revelry in what Providence has created."

I always found it amusing when Holmes invoked the sacred in his discussion of the profane. It served to elevate sexual congress to an art, rather than a mere satiation of primal urges. Like his study of the violin, or medieval palimpsests, or the nature of the obliquity of the ecliptic...for Holmes it was all art-- comprehended through the application of scientific methodology and filtered through his own singular eudaemonic perspective as well as his spirit of adventure. And I set this down on paper now, as a testimony to the time he impressed upon me the art of sensual expression, through the gift of science.

It has been somewhat of a long-standing tradition between Holmes and myself that when I am feeling especially amorous, I need only suggest that Holmes tidy up the flat for him to have me down to my woolens in an instant. Once, the mention of cleaning would have him enticing me with details of an old case of his until I was suitably absorbed in the tale, my mind happily focusing on events of the past with not a care for the present state of 221B. Ever since our return from Cornwall, Holmes has employed... other forms of distraction. I sometimes wonder if Holmes systematically creates a mess to instill in me reactions similar to those in an article I was reading recently regarding dogs being trained to associate certain sounds with food. When our rooms are simply intolerable (By my standards. Provided his files remained in immaculate condition, I truly believe Holmes has no standards), I find I have developed a strong association between this and erotic activity. So much so that my manhood often stirs at the sight of a pile of his gossip rags on the floor.

On one such occasion, when I found myself pinned to the settee, Holmes mentioned between increasingly rough kisses that he had something he wanted me to try. This has always been, and in fact I hope it will always be, a moment of extreme excitement tempered by slight trepidation on my part. Holmes is never quite content with your basic backscuttle or cocksucking.

Over the course of our relationship, I have determined that he can disregard his physical needs for an inordinately long amount of time...far outstripping my own capabilities...but when he is at last prepared to indulge, he will do so with all his characteristic focus and single-mindedness. It is a pleasure to be the subject of such scrutiny, but I would be disingenuous if I did not confess to it being slightly unnerving. Holmes is, however, respectful of my limits --though occasionally scornful of them-- and I was quite eager to see what he had in store for the evening. So, when he brought out a small box, I was more intrigued than apprehensive. 

It was entirely the wrong size for an internal apparatus, and also quite heavier than I expected, given its size. Holmes smiled and bid me open it. Inside was a large, finely-crafted metal ring. I stared at it some time, puzzled, before Holmes wrinkled his brow in his attempt to determine why I was so hesitant to examine the object more closely. He finally removed it from its case and deposited it within my hand, placing his gently on top, and looked at me with a heartwarming concern. I blushed, and explained how the object had far too great a resemblance to a jugum penis for my comfort. Mr Farquhar had been a proponent of them for treatment of Spermatorrhoea; when I took over his practice, I disposed of all such items-- and there were a great many of them. Holmes shook his head and raised his hand slowly. The device had a similar styling, it was true, but its edges were thicker, heavier and, thankfully, entirely smooth.

"It is designed for a far more pleasurable purpose. Care to try it?"

"It appears to be crafted for placement at the base of the cockstand," said I. "But if not to cause extreme pain upon constriction, I see no purpose for such a device." I was willing to incorporate some degree of pain into my pleasure, but this seemed extreme.

"My dear doctor, allow me to demonstrate. The mechanism here is for loosening, not for tightening." He pointed to the adjustable clamp. "I trust my memory of your proportions is accurate." He began to disrobe me and returned to his ministrations, kissing me again as he undid my trousers and drawers. He slid his tongue to the precise spot I most enjoyed-- where neck meets shoulder. I was breathing heavily as he conjured up a small tin of our usual salve from seemingly nowhere and gently applied it to ease the sliding of the ring over my rapidly-hardening member. He hummed with satisfaction. Of course it fit perfectly, and I felt a familiar uptick of arousal brought forth by the notion that this man was so utterly aware of my most intimate of measurements. Sherlock Holmes was far more fascinated with the intricacies of my tackle than his own, I suspected. Though I often felt as if mine were his property as well.

"How does it feel?" he asked earnestly, insistent on a full account.

"It feels like a firm grip, not tight at the moment, but quite frankly, I would much prefer that grip to come from your own hand." He smiled at that. "The weight is heavy. I...quite like the pressure against my ballocks... but the metal is slightly cold."

"If you should feel numbness or pain, say so immediately. We have approximately 20 minutes. I do not anticipate the need to continue past 12, however." 

"You've researched this thoroughly."

The look he gave me, his masculine nature be damned, could only be described as coquettish. "Quite. I could tell you tales of goat's eyelids which would disgust you with human nature."

Before I could spare a second toward the unusual mental image, Holmes had slid off his trousers and pants and was beginning to lower himself onto me.

"Holmes!" I ejaculated, "you cannot--"

"John," he whispered softly into my ear, sinking down onto my now impossibly rigid cock as I let out a gasp, "could you have possibly thought, upon my finally receiving this custom order, that I did not eagerly and thoroughly prepare myself for this very moment?"

And oh, the thought of that made me surge once more...but to my amazement, the increased swell did not abate. The blood was pooling within me, the metal of the ring warming up with the increasing heat of my body, and the function the tightening device was providing was suddenly all too clear to me. This was no mere hands-free device to mimic a grabbing sensation...nor was it a vice-like instrument of torture. It held my engorgement in place. As my blood flow increased, it kept me there, suspended. 

I think the expression of shock upon my countenance upon determining its true purpose must have been remarkable, for Holmes let out a sharply-curtailed cachinnation, which rapidly transformed into a deep groan as I became fully-seated within the embrace of his body. "The science of hydraulics in action, Watson," he said between breaths, "all for the benefit of your whore-pipe." He ground his hips with a fierce determination.

Owing to my military background, such language was commonplace in perhaps far too many of my social circles, but Holmes only used vulgarity in two situations-- when undercover on a case, or when it served to amplify the dichotomy between his prim nature in public and his current... self-impalement... in private. The fact that it was orchestrated precisely to create a more powerful experience for me did not diminish it in the least. I held him in place and arched into him with all my strength, feeling invincible, and his hands gripped my sides beckoning me deeper still.

We moved in concert, and soon he began writhing wantonly with the feel of my hands upon his body, until it grew to be too much for me and my overwhelming need to lay Holmes down upon the hearth rug and take control could no longer be quelled. The conflict remained intense. I craved release, and yet, the strength of my cockstand was such that I felt as if I could keep going forever, watching Holmes wring every last bit of his pleasure from me. I knew it was impossible-- that Holmes would be carefully monitoring the time with his ruthless internal clock. I started to gather my strength to make my move, when Holmes shook his head. I fought off any visual cue of my disappointment, hopeless a task as that might be; Holmes would be unlikely to reach completion easily in this position and I wanted my hardness to be of the best use to him. Instead of changing position, he wrapped his hand around himself and began a steady motion in conjunction with his continued rocking, and I added my own to his until he arched his body and I was certain I was achieving my desired effect.

That penetrating gaze was again upon me, speeding me toward my moment of crisis. Holmes continued to both observe me and sustain the motion with his left hand, when he abruptly reached down with his right and undid a fastening along the side of the ring, causing my release from the confines of the contraption in tandem with my own release of mettle. The sensation of a sudden burst outward was heightened to such an effect that I did cry out. Fortunately, Holmes had anticipated that eventuality, and muffled my noise with his fist as he spent upon my stomach and chest. 

"Quite satisfactory," sighed Holmes. 

"Remarkable," was my reply.

We spent a long moment in the gathering darkness, neither of us wishing to quit the room for a flannel.

I do not know how Holmes learns of such things: whether he discusses these techniques in dark alleyways with those engaged in the profession of pleasing men or if there are artifacts such as these in books or at the British Museum (or whether the jugum penis will be a relic itself in a museum someday). But the rightness I feel when we are together like this-- he lying on my chest, cataloguing the sound of my heart slowly returning to its regular rhythm, my hand resting gently on his head as he does so-- gives me hope for a brighter future. 

In concluding this account, I smile at the scandal we may yet cause. Or perhaps, if we move far enough forward in time, it will be of no great consequence, save the shock of the reading of the intimate confessions of an unknown man and his unknown lover in an age long past. And so, I seal this letter, and place it in my box within a box within a vault.


End file.
